


Lying in the name of truth

by Nirmalneaners



Category: Justice League - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Feels, Boredom, Boys In Love, Boys Kissing, Bruce Feels, Cute, Declarations Of Love, Denial of Feelings, Dubious Consent, Feels, Kissing, Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, OTP Feels, Oh God Yes, Rough Kissing, quick fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-12
Updated: 2018-03-12
Packaged: 2019-03-30 11:06:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13950270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nirmalneaners/pseuds/Nirmalneaners
Summary: He knew there was no room for cop-outs tonight, this had to be finished once and for all. One way or another they were going to talk about this, whether Bruce wanted to or not. Alcohol seemed to tarnish the vintage scent of the study, shrouding the smell of old books in favor of Whiskey and Scotch. Bruce had been drinking for some time apparently, and he watched as the last bit of a bottle was poured into a glass unsteadily.or, I had an hour to kill so this was birthed.





	Lying in the name of truth

“We can’t keep this up forever.”

He knew there was no room for cop-outs tonight, this had to be finished once and for all. One way or another they were going to talk about this, whether Bruce wanted to or not. Alcohol seemed to tarnish the vintage scent of the study, shrouding the smell of old books in favor of Whiskey and Scotch. Bruce had been drinking for some time apparently, and he watched as the last bit of a bottle was poured into a glass unsteadily.

“Is this how little you think of me?” he asked, although he was starting to consider it. Bruce couldn’t even answer him. “you think so little you can’t even talk to me? Acknowledge me?”

He watched Bruce intently, tracked the movement of his glass as it was lifted. Watched as he finished it off. Clark Felt himself getting angrier, Bruce wouldn’t even look at him. Instead, he reached for a new bottle. He watched a new glass be filled, the spilling of liquid and cracking of the fireplace the only sounds left between them. He couldn’t take it anymore.

“Bruce!”

Maybe it was the desperation in his voice that got a response, or maybe Bruce finally cracked too. His shoulders slowly rose with an intake of breath and relaxed as he looked up at the ceiling. 

“What do you want from me, Clark?”

And that was the question. He didn’t know, not really. Right now? The truth. But Bruce meant more than in the moment, he was asking a fully cocked question that Clark didn’t have a whole answer for.

“I want an answer.”

“And what if you don’t like it?”

He hadn’t thought of that. He rushed over here like a hurricane, his emotions strung, and all self-control gone. He had no set purpose, he just needed to be here tonight. And now he was here, opened his mouth and started all of this off and he never once considered he might not like the answer. Or, what would happen after? He never let himself slip so far, but Bruce did things to him he couldn’t understand.

Bruce turned to finally face him, drink in hand. He always had a face that projected a very distinct dark side, one that Clark always imagined would have been in his nightmares if Bruce had turned out any other way. He was a force of destruction barely contained under the surface. Controlled energy channeled into everything the man did. And right now, influenced by Whiskey and leverage, all his energy was channeled at Clark. Unkept and running wild through the cracks in his façade. He was dangerous like this, unpredictable and held all the power to crush Clark into the dust. And the frightening thing is, Bruce wouldn’t think twice to do it.

“What if you don’t like the answer?” he repeated, staring relentlessly. Nothing but cold in his blue eyes, ice. They reminded Clark of the artic. “You never even thought about that, did you? You just came here tonight with no judgment, no plan. And that’s your problem, you never _think_.”

Clark watched as Bruce huffed ever so slightly before taking a sip, seemingly done with him. He didn’t know what to say because it was true. What would he do if he didn’t like it? He couldn’t live with the hope anymore. It would be gone. He would be left with nothing to hold onto except cold words.

“Go home Clark, go to Lois. You’re good at that.” He finished, walking past Clark without a glance. Except his words were laced with something, and it sounded a lot like sadness.

“I love you, Bruce.” He admitted, grabbing the mans arm. He was facing his back, saw as a splash of Whiskey hit the floor from the abrupt stop. Bruce said nothing. “Even if you lie to me, even if the answer I want is a lie to you. I know you feel the same.”

“The truth is I don’t love you.” He spat, and it hit Clark harder than he thought. He would have believed it too, the coldness in his voice. The absolute solidity of his words. Except he paused. “I never loved you.”

Clark let go of his arm, his words stabbing deep. Bruce paused for a second before walking over to the fireplace, his back to him all the time. He didn’t understand any of this. He didn’t understand Bruce. But he watched the mans hand, the small tremors wracking through his fingers like ripples on water. Bruce was always still, but this was disturbing him. He was thrown off balance. He was lying.

Clark had always let it go before, but tonight he couldn’t. If he walked out of this house tonight, right now, that would be it. There would never be another chance. Bruce would always believe that his decision right now was the right one. Bruce would always believe he was better off alone. He wasn’t though, and whether they both knew it or not Clark had to do something. He wouldn’t let Bruce self-sabotage himself. Close himself off from the world, from him.

He was walking before he knew it, frantic in his step until he grabbed onto Bruce, spun him around and smacked him into the wall. The glass of Whiskey hit the floor with a thud, spreading out across the wood. Bruce’s eyes were wide, his face allowing the shock to be visible. He looked scared.

“Lie to me then.” He snapped, fingers digging into Bruce’s hips that little more. He felt hands pushing on his chest, fists crumpling up the fabric of his shirt into handfuls. “tell me you love me. Tell me not to leave, tell me I never meant a damn thing to you-“

“Clark.”

“-No. I can’t keep doing this anymore. You’re killing me, and I am so desperate I’m letting you. I wish I’d never met you, I wish you would just stop.”

He exhaled slowly, taking in a new breath tinged with Whiskey. It clung to them, sweet and putrid all at the same time. Bruce was staring at him, his face blank as he studied over Clark's face. His eyes were glazed, the intoxication more evident this close. And he realized just how close, he only needed to lean, and he would taste the drink first hand. He wanted to, god help him. He stared at red lips, only slightly parted as soft puffs of air hit his own. He hated the hold one man held over him. He would do anything he asked, and it was fucking terrifying.

He plunged forward as Bruce opened his mouth, cutting the false words off before they could damage him. Lips crashed together harshly, his desperation seeping through. Bruce started struggling, pushing against his chest in vain.

He pulled back as the realization hit that he wasn’t getting kissed back, both panting and staring at each other. He was still holding Bruce against him by his hips, the feel of a thigh between his legs burnt into his skin. Bruce’s eyes were flicking over his face, from his eyes to his lips, and as he opened his mouth a twinge of fear seeded itself in Clark.

“I hate you,” Bruce hissed, pulling him back in by his shirt.


End file.
